


the songs our fingers whisper

by fallingbird



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Romance, Touch, What are Tags?, i cry, ridiculous dependent co-leaders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 16:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingbird/pseuds/fallingbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a beauty to touch that goes unrealized for so long; but one day, her fingers will beg for familiar muscles against her skin, and the realization will bring a gentle comfort both she and he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the songs our fingers whisper

**i.**

Charlotte’s screams still run through Clarke’s mind, and the sight of the girl making her damning decision plays in the back of her vision. Clarke can’t help but wonder how long it will take for the haunting to be a dull, background noise, just so she can live in peace.

_Stupid._

She winces at her mistake, and in the privacy of her mind, she voices an apology to Charlotte; to the girl, not just the memory of her arms spread like wings as she takes flight. She cannot--will not--forget, not when she has seen so many die already for only two names—now three—to be seared in her mind.

_Atom — Wells — Charlotte._

Crossing her arms, her lips thin to a straight line, watching the camp from the entrance of the drop ship. She smells like moonshine because of her work, and her nose crinkles in disgust. She never minded the smell on the Ark, but on Earth the stench overwhelms. She hates it. The wonder for the planet has left her, and only a sour taste remains.

And that taste intensifies when Bellamy enters camp with the dramatics of violence as he drags someone behind him.

 _Dax_ , her mind chants as she pushes herself forward.  _Remember his name, know them all, never forget._

“You risk hurting another person again and I will skin you alive before the Grounders can even touch you,” Bellamy shouts. Clarke’s gut curls and she can hear the echo of Wells grunting in disgust. 

“Bellamy what happened?” Her voice is crisp with the elegant proficiency of someone who is already pissed, and Bellamy lips curl in response.

Clarke could care less if he didn’t like her interfering; she never did, and he never liked it, but now they are partners and on equal footing. What she says has weight now.

She wonders if he’ll listen. By the bags under his eyes, she thinks he will.

 ( _he is a reflection of her; charlotte haunts them both_ )

Finn is hovering, about to approach them when Bellamy remains silent, but Clarke shakes her head. When Bellamy turns and snarls at Finn (like he's a caged animal begging to be released so he can cause havoc), she sighs.  _This_  is for her and Bellamy to endure. No one else, not even Finn, can interfere.

Thankfully, Finns pauses, and Bellamy slides his attention back to her, eyes narrowing in hostility.

She takes a breath.

_Atom — Wells — Charlotte._

“What happened?” she repeats. And she dares reach out, placing her hand on Bellamy’s elbow in some means of convincing him _to talk to her_.

His muscles seizes; she can feel them through the fabric of his jacket. But he doesn’t scamper, only sets his face to stone.

“He didn’t listen,” Bellamy growls. “We were hunting, he didn’t listen to—directions, and his spear almost hit Fox.”

“And is this the first time—”

“No.”

Clarke presses her lips together in irritation over being interrupted, but as she keeps a snap at bay, she eyes Dax. He doesn’t deny, only averts his gaze.

That is when Bellamy tenses once more. Wound tight like a trebuchet about to wreak chaos, she feels a hint to who he is. And when she meets his eyes, it is not them, but the muscles along his face that betray him.  His jaw clenches, and then he slowly exhales.

“He’s been given a warning before,” he says, tone low and voice—almost strained. Then he shakes her hand away as if Clarke didn’t matter. So she turns to Dax as if Bellamy wasn’t allowing her to voice a judgment.

“I’m not comfortable that—accidents are being repeated,” she says slowly, like she’s still testing this newfound role ( and she is, but she’s testing Bellamy as well, and hell, he knows why they have to  _try_ ).  “So those small outhouses need cleaning.”

Dax seems petrified at cleaning everyone’s shit, and Clarke withholds an amused grin. She looks back to Bellamy to raise a brow in question. He responds with a scowl—and a nod.

The flood of relief coursing through her reminds her of Wells’ forgiveness, and her breath hitches.

“You can start now,” Bellamy orders, and Clarke steps out of Dax’s way as the boy trudges past.

She wants to say, ‘See? We work, Bellamy, this is good, we can be good at this, for everyone,  _for_   _memories of those no more_ ,’ but once the words bubble in the back of her throat, Bellamy is walking away and Finn is by her side.

It isn’t until later that she realizes the sour taste in her mouth has faded. She doesn’t dwell on it; she has names to repeat and faces to remember.

**ii.**

Anger is a dangerous weapon, but Clarke uses it anyways. So do Raven and Finn, but she is the one who holds wildfire in her veins. Everything in her  _burns_ , and it is a wonder the forest doesn’t burst into flames as she sprints by.

_300 people. 300 names._

She is the first to see him, and she is furious that he’s walking ( _no, staggering,_  her mind tries to reason with her,  _staggering from the weight of choices_ ). She launches herself forward and grabs his arm.

His muscles tense through his jacket, and she knows before he faces her how the lines on his face will shape—something like regret and acceptance.

She should  **S L A P**  him.

But the weight of choices erodes them both, and as Raven snarls and Finn accuses, her fury sates for a moment.

Clarke isn’t shocked that Bellamy tried to kill Jaha. Truthfully, pieces click together; they are answers to the how and why she has silently asked for so long. What she is startled by is how his face collapses for a split moment as he’s informed that Jaha is alive.

Relief looks better on Bellamy than guilt.

When she reaches for him again, she presses a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not a murderer,” she murmurs with force, willing him to realize they are still partners and they have a duty to those they protect, no matter if those people were on Earth or the Ark.  _This is what they had to do._

He shrugs her off again, like he always does. But she felt the ease in his shoulder, and the sensation still plays on her fingertips. He agrees, and though the tension and anger still crackle between them all, there is a shift in the air.

Clarke doesn’t dwell on it; they have people to save.

~

With a hope they aren’t too late, she stares at the sky and the streaks of red staining the sky. She is reminded of watercolors and how the paint felt on her fingers; her mind drifts to the colored pencil Finn passed to her, and how a small moment of happiness isn't enough to combat desperation. But they managed to do _something_. The camp still smells of smoke—more so because of the one rocket that skimmed too low on the horizon—but it is still a comfort, no matter how small, because it's a reminder that they succeeded with this. The Ark  _has_  to know they are alive.

But she still asks to the leader beside her (despite that she is still mad, still trying to grasp how they can  _keep_  working), “Can you wish on this type of shooting star?”

And his hand brushes by hers. She thinks it’s by accident and shifts on her feet, clasping her hands together. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything of it; he only voices, “I don’t know.”

There is a flutter of disappointment, but it's a childish hope that faltered. She knows wishes becoming true are a privilege they haven't earned on Earth. But she still closes her eyes, gathers those left unforgotten in her heart, and mouths them all to reality. And she can’t help but somehow believe he does the same.

**iii.**

“Dammit, just  _tell me!”_

She hates how her nerves have frayed before the Grounder, but Finn is dying and she is trying not to think about how each breath he takes must have been what Wells sounded like as he bled alone.

She points to vial after vial, pleas on the tip of her tongue that never make it out loud. But there is no answer, and she tries not to curl into herself and wail.

She is burning hot in defeat, and her gut twists at the sour taste filling her mouth.

Then there is a soft touch at her shoulder, a hand wrapping to the curve of her body and hesitantly squeezing. And she knows it’s Bellamy because he would be the one to dare approach her, but his touch still shocks her out of her desperation. It reminds her of what they have to do for those dependent on them, and never has the duty of being a leader rocked her to her core.

He whispers her name, but she is already pushing herself on her feet.

( _his hand doesn’t fall away until he knows she will stand_ )

As she steps to the side, she feels the weight of his stare, and with the feeling of how his hand fit her shoulder, she faces him.

_Atom — Wells — Charlotte ——_

Finn is a shuddering breath away from death. So she nods.

She forces herself to stare at each welt that sears red, and she can’t help but see Atom bathing in his own blood, Charlotte flinging herself off the cliff, and Wells staring at her, long dead but still begging for life.

~

Clarke thinks it will rain when she finally steps outside. The Grounder’s grunts still reverberate through her, and it seems fitting. But the sky isn’t crying at all for what had to be done, and her hand trembles.

She hears her name before an embrace at her fingers. When she turns, trying to slip the mask of indifference on her face, it's Bellamy that reached for her, who is still reaching for her. The mask isn't placed. 

“Who we are and who we have to be to survive are two very different things.”

Later, she will hold those words close, let them settle in her heart and drive her to the edge, but right then, they do nothing.

But when he squeezes her fingers, curling them with his into another embrace, she squeezes back as she lets go of the nail in her hand.

The sour taste doesn’t fade.

**iv.**

She tries. She tries so hard to figure out how to keep the ground from turning red. But this time, it’s Bellamy who makes the hard choice, and it’s horrifying to watch. She wonders if this is how he felt when she made the same choice, and the pain in her lungs intensify.

Clarke is fire and she is burning herself to dust.

Bellamy crawls to her, his hand touching her knee before he collapses against the tree. His fingers linger, dipping right below a cut on her pants and grazing her skin. And it's sudden, the way she no longer sees him as a wild animal, but as a human begging and crying and trying just as hard for the blood to stop spilling.

When he pulls away, she leans forward and presses her arm against his.

What she says has the same effect his words did in what seems like a lifetime ago. Some of it registers, but he doesn’t believe her. She knows this, and the fact feels like a knife pressed against her throat because she needs them to work together, she needs him to be okay, she needs-------

“I need you,” she pleas in a whisper that, thankfully, doesn’t break as she leans further into him. There is hot warmth radiating from him as she applies more pressure, begging him with something that ties them to each other with a weak string of trust. And it works as he spares her a glance, right as forgiveness spills forth from her, and he grasps at it.

He is fire and he is burning himself too.

She resists the urge to rest her forehead on his shoulder.  She is so tired, but she can’t close her eyes.

_Atom — Wells — Charlotte —— Dax_

“Thank you,” Bellamy says, but it’s more like him gently (and finally) leaning against her.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, but it’s more like her hand knocking against his.

When they return to camp with blood on their hands and murder playing on repeat in their minds, they are walking closer than necessary, like they’re burning together.

**v.**

When he simply stares, she snatches his wrist again, and she knows they are both taken back to when hostility marked their every movement. The tension still remains (it won't ever disappear), but it is pushed aside for desperation because she is asking, she is _pleading_ with him, words bubbling in the back of her throat:

_‘Don’t you see? You and me, we work, we’re good at what we do, we can **still**  be good, we need each other to make it happen.’_

But instead, what she stammers is something about motivation, and she feels his body freeze in response.

                               ( _charlotte is forever soaring in the air_ )

“Fine,” he says with a thick voice, and she tries to quell the feeling of victory because it’s tainted. But she gives his wrist a squeeze, and he nods before gently pulling away.

When he walks past, though, he brushes the back of her hand against hers, and this time, she acknowledges it with, “We’re going to be okay, Bellamy.”

He doesn’t respond; there’s only a jerk of his head, but for Clarke, that is enough.

~

“Looks like you've got your war,” she mutters, and he snatches her wrist this time. She stills, staring at him, pleading with him. She hates that they were all forced to a war, where the list will only grow longer and longer. But this isn't a world where her wishes are granted; it is about death and destruction, and god, they're just _kids_.

Her damn lip trembles for a moment. She stops it with the efficient practice of someone who has done so for far too long. Yet there is a flash of something crossing Bellamy's gaze, and she knows he caught sight of her error. 

She swallows. He grips her wrist just a fraction tighter.

“We're going to be okay, Clarke.”

It's a ridiculous promise (she knows it's a promise because Bellamy wouldn't have said anything if it wasn't), and she releases a strangled huff. But she somehow nods too. When he releases her, she touches his arm before steeling herself for battle.

It's the last moment of peace, and she tucks it in her heart to give her strength.

~

When she pulls the latch, her mouth is filled with death, her vision sees only Finn, and her fingers are asking to reach for Bellamy’s wrist.

**vi.**

Even if her mother confirms it moments before, Clarke wasn’t prepared for the cry scorching up the back of her throat. To  _see_  Bellamy alive sends her tumbling forward, her feet flying over the ground like a wildfire.

She launches herself at him, holds him close as she possibly can. Her hands scramble for a hold on his shirt, and she dips her head against his neck, her lips forming broken sentences against his skin that never sound.

                                          (  _you’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive and h e r e_ )

And when he closes his arms around her and holds her just as tightly, a smile tears across her face to keep tears at bay.  _This_  is joy on earth, this moment just for her and him, and she clings to him for a few more blessed seconds.

When she pulls away, they breathe at the same time, full of giddy and trembling glee. As a breathless chuckle escapes her, she thinks that happiness plays the best on his face.

**vii.**

Her people are stumbling past the barriers the Grounders built, their escorts pointing at her. They didn’t need to; they all had their sights on her since she started walking away.

( _but did they keep staring as she killed somebody she pleaded to live?_ )

Raven is still screaming, and Clarke flinches. She steps away from how Finn is slumped on the post, and she forces herself to turn her back to the scene as Raven lurches herself to him.

_Atom — Wells — Charlotte — Dax ———- **FINN**_

His blood is still warm on her hands and she is suffocating. She burned herself to ash, and she is silently howling until her body grows numb.

Someone reaches for her hand and she whirls, tugging away. She blinks at Bellamy, no apology coming forth, and they stare at each other for a moment.

Then she scurries into the Lexa’s tent, trying to forget how the blood smeared Bellamy’s hand; instead, she searches for a cloth and repeats the names of the dead in a choked sob.

~

Finn stares at her. He is following them, eyes darting to the direction of the village, then back to her.

He is not afraid. And this terrifies her.

“Clarke.”

Bellmay jolts her attention away from Finn, and she tries to remember what it was like to breathe. Both of them are tense, and without meaning to, they launch into another argument about—everything. Abby and Kane, the alliance, Mount Weather; it almost seems like they are back into their regular roles.

He reminds her that they’re on equal footing. It’s like he believes she could ever forget.

“I can’t lose you too. Okay?”

She didn’t mean for it to sound hopeless. But her voice is thick, Finn is still staring at her, and she has to grip her pack tighter to keep her hands from shaking. So many deaths flash in her vision, taunting her endlessly. She can barely see the path ahead of her without wanting to fall and scream until she’s hoarse. She wants to hold everyone close; she wants to keep death from haunting and taking away.

But of all her desires, she wants Bellamy to never land on her list of dead.

He stares at her before averting his gaze. She still gazes at his profile, willing him to say nothing more. If he does, names will fall from her lips, a waterfall of hurt and pain, each death replaying in a never-ending loop.

( _one day, she is going to fall and never stand again_ )

But Bellamy knows. He looks ahead as they walk to the village, and she licks her lips before she does the same. They don’t say anything as he drifts close, his arm brushing hers with every step.

She doesn’t dwell on it; no, her mind just  _clings_  to the touch, and Finn finally disappears from sight.


End file.
